


swallow your words

by ConsentFest, icarusinflight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: HP Consent Fest 2019, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sexual Content, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, and then, fast burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-06 22:35:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17948408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConsentFest/pseuds/ConsentFest, https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarusinflight/pseuds/icarusinflight
Summary: The truth is, not many things are known about the magic that is behind soulmarks. They'll turn up when they want and not before.The truth is, you don't get a choice in your soulmark.The truth is, not everyone is okay with that.





	swallow your words

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: Soulmate AU. Character A & B are soulmates according to whatever designation trope the author chooses (e.g., matching names, seeing in color after touching, etc.). What is consent when the two parties never consented to be in a relationship together in the first place?
> 
> Thank you to tdcat for the wonderful prompt which started this whole thing. 
> 
> Many thanks to all the people who helped me get here, and who listened to be cry about this fic, further details in the end note
> 
> Thanks especially to the amazing mods who run this, and who gave me the chance

He’s doesn’t remember when the line blurred. Doesn’t know when his hatred for Harry developed into a reluctant acknowledgement that he found Harry attractive, or when that turned into a full-fledged crush.

He doesn’t know when it stopped being a crush and started being something more.

He doesn’t know when Harry started reciprocating it.

Draco doesn’t know when it became something more, when the tension changed, mostly because for him, it had always been there.

But somewhere along the way, Harry’s looks had changed. Draco doesn’t know when it happened, can’t pinpoint the place in time, only that now, when Harry looks at him, he can feel the heat building beneath his skin at the look in his eyes. Can feel the way his blood sizzles when Harry’s eyes look over him like that ― like Harry wants to devour him. Like he’s looking at Draco now.

He can’t believe this is actually happening.

It’s a recipe for disaster really, and Draco has been trying to be _better_ this year, trying to avoid disasters instead of running into them headfirst like he has a tendency to do.

And this — this is surely a recipe for disaster.

Maybe he’s not doing as well on that front as he’d like.

“Come on,” Draco mumbles, when Harry is still just standing there, _looking at him,_ lips bruised and breath coming heavy, just like Draco can feel his own coming. “Just fucking do something _Potter_.”

Harry moves, lightning quick like he is on the Quidditch pitch, trapping Draco with his own body. Draco feels like the Snitch, heart fluttering in his chest, as he quivers under Harry’s gaze, with Harry’s hands coming up to hold tight at his arms, capturing him and cutting off his exit ― not that Draco would ever want to. When Harry finally drops his head to bring their lips together Draco breathes a sigh of relief against his lips. He’s rapidly becoming addicted to Harry’s lips.

Draco doesn’t want to think about what that means.

It’s easier instead to deepen the kiss, flicking his tongue out to lick at Harry’s lips, who for once actually takes the direction, opening his lips to allow him access. When Harry deepens the kiss he tastes like the pasties they were eating in the common room, Butterbeer, and something spicy that Draco can’t place. It’s a bit weird and it’s a bit delicious and Draco just wants more, wants everything from Harry now.

It’s a little scary, just how much Draco wants, wants this. Draco drowns the voices in his head out with a roll of his hips, pressing his erection into Harry. Harry spreads his legs wider to allow Draco to move closer, pressing their hard cocks together. It feels amazing, the hard pressure, and Draco finally breaks the kiss, gasping loudly against Harry’s lips.

It’s almost overwhelming, the way Harry paws at him, hands shoving up Draco’s shirt, so rough on the material in ways that sends alarm bells ringing in Draco’s head, but he can’t even think of saying anything, when it means Harry’s hands are finally on him. Harry’s fingers trace up as he moves the shirt, one hand holding Draco’s hip firmly as the other starts moving up, tracing Draco’s stomach, fingers just skirting his belly button, before drifting out to his ribs, feeling the bumps and dips as he traces his way up, feeling the way Draco’s breath hitches, at that, and when Harry flicks a thumb over Draco’s nipple and his breath catches on a sharp inhale.

“Potter,” Draco growls, or tries to. His voice sounds broken and desperate even to his own ears, and he can see the hint of a smile on Harry’s cheeks where his head is ducked, watching his hands as they rove across Draco’s body, hands standing out against Draco’s skin.

“Is it Potter now?” Harry asks, and it’s only then that Draco realises what he’d said. It’s been _Harry_ for a while now, changed sometime when awkward interactions, and stilted cooperation started to turn into something else. _Potter,_ now, and Draco’s enjoyed having that, likes that they’re _Harry and Draco_ now instead of _Potter and Malfoy_ , and he hadn’t even meant to call him Potter, but the old name slipped out without him thinking about it.

Draco wants to say something witty in response, but it’s hard to think when it feels like every nerve and thought are dedicated to tracking the course of Harry’s hands and the feel of Harry’s body against him. He abandons all hope with a groan, thrusting up into Harry’s body again.

This could probably be enough for him, the pressure building low in his stomach with every thrust between them, even as the material of his pants is starting to feel just this side of too much. He’s barely thought it when Harry’s hands move, fast as the Snitch itself, pressing firm against his chest before Harry shoves Draco. He overbalances and falls away from Harry and back onto the bed, bouncing a little on the mattress. Harry is on him again before Draco can compain, forcing Draco’s legs wide and leaning down over him, forcing Draco down onto the bed as Draco glares up at him.

He suspects the glare might be lacking, considering the thumping in his chest and his groin, and the fact that Harry is still grinning down at him.

“Take a photograph why don’t you, Potter?”

“I would,” Harry admits easily, and Draco feels his face flush, at the admission, at Harry’s gaze tracing over him. The easy way in which Harry just _says_ things, leaves Draco reeling.

Draco feels like he can’t breath, and Harry is just so _overwhelming, all encompassing,_ and Draco needs to breathe, needs to put space between them. He moves up the bed, shuffling backwards until he can feel the pillow, _Harry’s pillow_ behind his head. It hardly works; Harry follows him, of course, like Draco had wanted if he’s being honest with himself, and the look on his face as he does feels almost predatory, leaves Draco feeling like Harry would eat him, given the chance, and Draco thinks he would probably let him.

Harry’s hands are quick to return to his body, shoving the shirt up again to bunch at his armpits, revealing Draco’s stomach and chest, the way his chest is heaving with the rapid inhales and exhales. Draco can see  the red flush that stretches halfway down his chest, leaving no question of how into this Draco is. Harry makes a show of walking his fingers up slowly, moving over the soft skin of his stomach and the less soft skin over his ribs. His fingers find Draco’s nipple, rubbing over the already hard nub before he pinches, hard. Draco can’t help the gasp that comes from his lips.

He feels too hot, overheating. It’s not helped by the way his shirt is pushed up against his chest, feels almost trapped by it. He should take it off, they should take it off, Merlin why are either of them still wearing clothes when they could be naked?

“Potter,” Draco gasps, when Harry’s fingers pinch his nipple again, the sensation shooting straight to his cock. Harry’s other hand is wrapped around his hip, almost obsessively. It’s hard to think with all the competing sensations, and Draco struggles to keep his train of thought. “At least —” His voice breaks as Harry moves his hips down to press their groins together. “At least take my shirt off you — you heathen, you’re ruining it.”

Harry’s moves are anything but subtle as he grinds down against Draco, interrupting his words and looking like the cat that got the cream. Draco wants to wipe the look off his face, but he wants Harry to keep going more. It’s intoxicating, the feel of Harry against him, and Draco wants it to _never stop_ but he also wants to _get his fucking clothes off_ and Harry is not helping the matter. Draco takes matters into his own hands, thrusting up with more force this time, almost trying to buck Harry off in the attempt to break the cycle he’s fallen into.

“We wouldn’t want that, would we?” Harry says with a grin, sounding far from bothered by the idea. He sits back on his heels to free his hands, fingers seeking out the engraved pearl buttons on Draco’s shirt. His fingers barely fumble the buttons, before Draco releases a groan, pushing himself to sit up, and shoving Harry’s hands away roughly. Draco’s own fingers make short work of the buttons, while Harry just watches, eyes focused. It almost feels like Draco is making a show of it; he’s not, only taking his shirt off, but Harry seems almost transfixed by his actions all the same.

If there ever is another time, Draco thinks he might like putting on a bit of a show, if only to have Harry’s eyes on him, to see the hunger clear as day across his face as Draco slowly reveals himself.

He wants it more than he cares to admit.

He drowns the thoughts out with action, shrugging the shirt from his shoulders and throwing it across the room, no longer caring about the damn _charmeuse silk_. Draco needs to reestablish some sense of control, so he brings his hands to Harry’s shoulders, digging his fingers in hard enough that he sees Harry wince from it, and shoves him, adding in a sharp knee to Harry’s side for good measure. Harry tumbles sideways, ending up flat on the bed on his back and Draco quickly throws a leg over Harry’s body, sitting over his stomach and looking down at Harry.

It’s not too bad a view, really.

Here, looking down at Harry, Draco feels worried for a moment, that maybe this isn’t real. These sort of things don’t happen to him, not really. People say good things come in threes but for Draco that’s never been the case, good things _don’t_ come to him, or when they do they come with their own consequences, like a Djinn's wish come back around; like the time he got onto the Quidditch team only to crash his broom, and the way his father had looked at him when he said he couldn’t believe he’d been such a _disappointment._

“Hey,” Harry says, his voice tinged with concern. Draco’s become familiar with that tone over the year, even become familiar with it directed at him. It brings him crashing back down, to this moment, here, all other thoughts fleeing from his mind. “Are you with me?”

Draco shakes his head, trying to shake out the thoughts. The feeling is still there, the certainty that somehow whatever _this_ is between them will end up causing him more grief than joy, but Draco tries to shove that down with a roll of his hips and focus instead on the sound of Harry’s groan echoing round the room.

“Yes,” Draco breathes out, and if his voice sounds a little weak Draco hopes Harry puts it down to the arousal thrumming in his veins. “Yes. Are you? Do you want this?” Draco needs to know, needs to be sure.

“Yes,” Harry gasps out, fingers digging into Draco’s hips delightfully, and Draco replies with a roll of his hips. His cock is trapped almost painfully in his pants, and Harry can’t be doing much better, even as Draco can feel the swell of it pressing into his arse.

Draco's fingers play at the hem of his shirt, pushing it up just a little, but his fingers don't make contact.

“Can I?”

“Please,” Harry gasps, spurring Draco into action.

Harry's shirt goes first, pushed up and over his head and then thrown away, probably to join Draco's own, gone somewhere Draco doesn't care to think about. Draco's fingers touch at the waistband of his jeans next, and Harry gasps out another, “Yes!” Draco unbuttons Harry’s jeans, sliding them off and out of the way to leave Harry in only his pants, his cock tenting the material, making it clear just how turned on he is.

“Are you going to take off your own trousers?” Harry asks, his voice a mix of wonder and _want_ , and of _course_ Draco is going to take off his trousers, but he hesitates in his own actions. Despite of the want, or maybe because of it, Draco feels nervous at the thought of getting naked in front of Harry. This isn’t his first time doing this, but it may as well be, for all the feelings running round his head, the pixies flapping in his stomach. This time with Potter feels more important somehow, for reasons Draco doesn’t want to examine.

His fingers still on his flies, but when Harry reaches for them Draco slaps his hands away, reignited by the touch, and he makes short work of them, throwing them across the room to wherever the fuck that Draco does not care about. This time when Harry reaches out, Draco lets him, hands coming up to his hips, and pulling Draco back in, down to the bed with him and kissing him again, lips warm and sort and a little wet from the kissing. Kissing Harry feels like sitting too close to the fireplace on a cold night, all delight with just the hint of too much, and Draco can’t get enough, wants to keep kissing him all night.

Harry rolls his hips into Draco’s and _oh that_ is what they could be doing instead. Harry spreads his legs wider to allow Draco to move closer, pressing their cocks together. It feels amazing, the hard pressure of it, and Draco has to break the kiss to gasp out when Harry thrusts again.

“Draco,” Harry gasps. He’s touching Draco everywhere it feels like, at their groins, their legs wrapped around each others, their lips bumping into each other. Harry’s hands on Draco are almost too much too handle, they never stop touching, never stop moving, running up Draco’s arms, over his shoulders, down his back.  They keep tracing a path on Draco’s body,and on every run, his hands dip a little lower. When his hands finally brush the band of his pants, Draco feels like he’s been waiting for it an age, but soon they’re drifting even lower, feeling the swell of his arse, and letting his hands rest there, _finally_ , as he holds and squeezes.

“Potter,” Draco groans again, and he can’t take it anymore, needs to get a hand on himself, to touch his cock, needs to touch Harry back, and he moves, too quick really, almost pitching straight into Harry, and saved only by Harry’s bloody _hands_. Draco rights himself again, still feeling the echo of Harry’s fingers where they’d dug in tight, and almost as if Harry can tell it he squeezes again, digging in, and Draco half hopes there’ll be bruises in the morning, a sign of all they’ve shared tonight.

Draco’s slips his hand between them, knuckles brushing over Harry’s cock as pushes down their pants to get their cocks out. Draco’s hand wraps around them both, the moan echoing between their lips. Harry shoves his hands into Draco pants, pushing them down haphazardly, getting his hands on Draco’s arse properly. Draco moans as he starts to move his hand, a little dry, but it still feels amazing as he tugs at both their cocks He grips firmer, pulls tighter, and it’s not helping Draco, but he wouldn’t trade it for anything, especially not when Harry grips tighter still, thumb digging into his hip and fingers on his arse, almost like Harry _is_ trying to leave bruises on his skin.

It feels so good, Harry’s hands on him, Harry’s body beneath him, cock rubbing up against his own and hand wrapped tight around them. Harry’s thrusting, moaning, and he gives up all attempts at kissing Draco in favour of burying his head against Draco’s neck, mouthing lazily at the skin there, breathes coming hot and heavy as he thrusts up into Draco’s hand as quick as Draco lets him.

Draco is watching Harry’s face, cataloguing every moan, so it shouldn’t be a surprise when Harry comes, without even giving a warning, but it is. Harry groans, shooting off over Draco’s hand, his cock, even his stomach, and Draco tries through his own haze to try and memorise all of it, in case this is the only time he gets to see the great Harry Potter orgasm.

Draco drops his hand from Harry’s cock, releasing it to take his own cock in sticky fingers, and thrusts into them and against Harry. He can’t look away from Harry’s face, not even when Harry does, eyes looking down between them to their cocks. Harry’s face at the sight of the mess he’s made shoots straight to Draco’s cock, forcing a loud gasp from his lips. Draco’s close, so close, it almost feels like he’ on fire, could come at any moment, but he still can’t look away from Harry’s face even as his eyes start to prickle. Harry tightens his hold again fingers gone lax in his own orgasm, and it’s enough, Draco gasping, as his own orgasm overtakes him. He still tries to keep his eyes open, to watch Harry watching him, but eventually it’s too much, and Draco closes his eyes as he rides out his orgasm.

Draco slips his hand out from between them, and collapses on Harry, trapping the mess between them, as his breathing starts to slow. When he can think again, he whispers a spell to clean them up. It only half works, Draco can still feel some residual stickiness, but Draco can’t bring himself to care anymore.  At least he tried.

It’s a bit gross, all things considered, he really should care, should move to clean the rest of it away, should do _something,_ but it’s _their_ mess. He feels an odd pleasure at that, for reasons he can’t be bothered to examine just now. Tomorrow he’ll sort it, even though he’s sure he’ll regret this decisions then. MaybeDraco can convince Harry to clean it off them both — and thoughts of a luxurious bath fill his head as he starts to feel the tug of sleep pull him away.

There’s a space just under his ribs which tingles a little as sleep pulls him under, but it’s easy to ignore.

 

_Hullo, Hogwarts too?_

_Yes_

 

Draco wakes to the feeling of someone in the bed behind him. There’s a press of lips against his neck, warm and gentle, and it only takes a moment before Draco is melting into it, moaning into the pillow. He takes a moment to appreciate it, the way Harry’s body is laying on top of his, almost pinning him to the mattress. One of Harry’s arms is wrapped around him, hand gripping his hip and fingers rubbing small circles against his skin. Draco can feel Harry’s hardness against him, rocking against his arse in movements that aren’t subtle at all, and he can feel Harry’s cockhead leaking against his back. He was already half hard when he woke, and his cock is fattening up beneath him, almost painful where it’s trapped against the sheets. Draco wants to move, wants to get his hand on Harry and wank him off again, wants Harry’s fingers on him, or maybe in him, and _fuck_ doesn’t that send another flush of heat straight to his groin.

He wants it all, can’t think for the want pulsing through him. He lets his body take over, working on instincts alone when his fingers grip into the sheets, using the leverage to push back against Harry. It finally gives him some friction against his own cock, forcing a moan from them both.

“You’re awake,” Harry mouths against the shell of his ear, voice low and shooting straight to his groin.

“That tends to happen in the morning, Potter,” Draco snarks, or tries to, but his mouth is still half in the pillow, and his voice catches on a gasp when Harry pushes down against him, forcing him into the mattress.

“Took you long enough.”

“Some of us like our sleep,” Draco snarks, though that’s not true, not usually anyway. He’s usually a light sleeper, tossing and turning through the night and awake at the drop of a pin. But he can’t recall waking once, and feels rested now. He can see the sunlight filtering through the stained glass window, adding to his already sated feeling with the warmth it brings him. He feels like a cat, could stretch out across the sheets if it weren’t for the more pressing issue of _Harry pressing him down._ “What, did you get bored? Couldn’t find anything to help you pass the time?”

“Spent the whole time thinking of you,” Harry says, voice like molasses and _fuck,_ Harry’s voice. Draco thinks he’d be happy to come just like this, rutting down against the sheets with Harry’s voice in his ear and his cock against his arse. “Thinking about what I’d do when you woke up, thinking about all the things I want us to do, what I want to do to you.”

Draco moves, bucking up his hips and rolling over, unseating Harry a little unceremoniously, before climbing on top of Harry.

“Did you think about this?” Draco asks, rolling his hips into Harry’s, watching Harry’s eyes as they slip shut, Harry’s moan echoing his Draco’s.

Which is when his eyes slip down, to three words marked into Harry’s chest.

_Hullo, Hogwarts too?_

He freezes, his whole world focusing down to the words on Harry's’ chest.

“Harry,” Draco’s voice sounds foreign, even to him, the touch of that icy false calm that he thought he’d left behind, has been working so hard on leaving behind this year. “Did you have that last night?”

“What?” Harry asks, the confusion in his voice, Draco can’t tear his eyes away from the marks, can’t look to see the confusion he can see there, because he knows that writing, knows the curl and angle of the H and the way the letters run into each other — _lazily_ — even after years of the most expensive tutors his father could hire.

A touch against his ribs finally pull Draco from his thoughts and crashing back to the world. Fingers touch lightly against his lowest ribs, light as a feather, but Draco still flinches, pulling away just enough to get some distance. Or what distance he can get, when he’s still sitting on Draco’s lap.

“You—” Harry says, his fingers still reaching out towards him, eyes flicking between Draco’s face and the place where his fingers had brushed, just a moment before. Draco can feel the way his skin prickles there, and he can’t bring himself to look, to see what lies there.

“What—” he stops himself, swallows, starts again. “Did you have that last night?” he asks. Maybe this is all one big mistake, he reasons, trying to think of some reason for the words, even as the ache low in his chest tells him he already knows the answer.

“No!” Harry says, emphatically and oh-so earnestly. “Draco…”

It feels like the walls are closing in on him. Draco can see what’s coming next, before Harry opens his mouth and says, “you’re my soulmate.”

_No._

He scrambles backwards, falling back against the mattress, rushing to get away from Harry in a mad rush of uncoordinated limbs. He definitely kicks Harry in the process, feels muscle beneath his foot before he gets caught in the sheets, falling to the floor and taking half the bedding with him, and any remaining air forced out of his lungs in a rush.

_This can’t be happening._

He can’t think, can’t even breath. The mind healers taught him to count his breathing when things start getting away from him but he can’t manage it in the moment; his heart is racing and his breathes are coming too fast and he can’t think, can’t do anything. He needs to get away, he’s still scrambling, kicking at the sheets where they’re tangled around his legs and trying to get free. When finally the sheets release him from their cruel hold, he go scrambling back again, not even standing up as he’s still on his arse, looking around the room for his clothes.

“Draco.”

Someone in the room is making noises, it sounds like someone is choking and Draco realises it's _him_ making the noises just as his hands finally find his trousers, the soft black material familiar under his fingers, and he doesn’t even stand up as he pulls them, despite the fact he hasn’t found his pants yet.

Draco stands up, looking for his shirt, the only sound his own breathing the blood rushing in his ears as he looks around and _where the fuck is his shirt._

Harry’s hands on his arm shock him, and Draco lets out a noise worthy of an attack from Peeves. He yanks  his arm back, as if Harry’s touch has burnt him.

His arm tingles like it might have.

“Draco—”

“No!” He can hear his voice, high pitched and not remotely under control, and Draco pulls his arm back around him, wrapping it tight, and covering up his ribs, as if to guard them from Harry.

“You’re wrong,” Draco says, the words like ash in his mouth. “You’re wrong, anyone could say those words, you don’t know they turned up last night.”

“Draco―”

“No!”

“Draco!”

“Stop saying that!” Merlin where is his fucking shirt. Fuck it he doesn’t even need his shirt, he grabs his scarf, pulling it around his shoulders as if that would make any difference, and he starts backing away. “Just, no Harry. You’re mistaken, you’re wrong, it’s not what you think.”

“Draco.”

“Just leave me alone Harry,” Draco says, fingers finally finding the door behind him, and then he’s gone, out the door and leaving Potter’s voice behind him, as he runs with his jumper still clutched in his hands and his scarf wrapped half around his shoulders.

_Hullo, Hogwarts too?_

_Yes_

 

Magic is the explanation that ties together the wizarding world, reaching from the smallest pixie to the biggest giant. Some even say there is magic in Muggles, something that lies beneath their skin, as if waiting — although the theory is largely considered to not be worth it’s weight in water.

Of all the magical beings that exist, the only ones that have soulmates — or soul _marks_ at least ―  are wizards. Soulmate magic is still largely unknown. There are theories tracing back to Merlin’s days, a history of spells to try and help you find your soulmate, first hand accounts of people finding their soulmates.

Somewhere before, there'd been a time when the marks were just something that happened. Then people tried to quantify them, and record them, and understand them. It’s been studied ever since, there’s even a division in the  Ministry of Magic dedicated to understanding soulmarks. For all that, it’s still a largely unknown area of magic. The marks are limited to wizards, but your soulmate needn’t be a wizard.

Your soulmate is often, but not always, the person you end up with. They’re often romantic, but not always. There’s no discernable pattern to when you soulmark will turn up. Sometimes someone you've just met, sometimes someone new. There's no perceivable way to understand where a soulmark will turn up. They often turn up after intimacy.

_The truth is, not everyone's mark turns up after sex._

_The truth is many do._

_Hullo, Hogwarts too?_

_Yes_

Somehow, Draco ends up at the Dungeons. It’s not _his space_ anymore, hasn’t come back since the end of seventh year, but somehow his feet carry him here without Draco even registering the passage. He pulls up short at the statue; he doesn't know what the password is, and while he's sure he _could_ get in if he wanted, he's not sure he's welcome here anymore.

He brushes his fingers against the door frame once, allows himself to feel the familiar stone beneath his fingers, before he moves on, walking straight past the entrance, and further into the dungeons.

The dungeons still feel like home to him, and he feels safe, feels like he could close his eyes and navigate his way on memory alone, even after all this time. He keeps walking until he finds the narrow staircase he’s looking for, hands running across the wall as he takes the staircase, counting out the steps, until he reaches thirteen.

It’s been a while since he’s been here, but he finds the ridges he’s looking for first time, the carving he can’t see in the dark, but can see in his mind clear as day.

“Fluxweed,” he whispers, hoping the password still works, hoping it didn’t close down like Snape’s offices had after his death.

The door swings open and the breath Draco had been holding releases all at once when he sees the room. It’s still exactly as he remembers, the bookshelves in all the same places, and even though the air tastes musty and stale, Draco feels like it’s the first real breathe he’s taken since he saw the marks on Harry’s skin.

The windows are set into walls that meet the lake, the filtered light just enough to see in the room. Draco heads to the window now, walking around the desk in the middle of the room. The window is round, and the ridge is wide, wide enough to sit on, Draco knows from experience. It’s where Draco goes, pulling himself up to sit on the window, back leaning against on curve and legs propped up against the other. He leans his head against the window, the surface cool against his hot face.

He misses Pansy, the feeling coming on suddenly, and almost overwhelming in its intensity. He feels  angry at her for not being here when he needs her. It’s not a new feeling, something that comes and goes, but rarely this strongly. On his better days, he knows why she’s not here, why she couldn’t face up to these castle walls, but he still misses her, some days more than others and today more than all before.

If Pansy were here, she’d understand. If Pansy were here, she’d be sitting opposite Draco, legs intertwined like they used to on the days when everything at Hogwarts was too hard, too much. Pansy’s always been the first person he runs to, the first person he tells his secrets too, even when he felt like he couldn’t tell anyone.

If Pansy were here she’d listen, and she’d understand and everything would feel better.

Instead he’s alone.

_Hullo, Hogwarts too?_

_Yes_

Soulmarks are unpredictable, as are people’s reactions to them. Some people tried to game the system, as if you could force a soulmark into existence, if only you tried hard enough. Some people tried to force them, like it was the intimacy that brought them into existence, and for some people that worked. Some people tried to find their soulmate, or soulmark, using spells, and rituals and everything in between. Some people felt it wasn’t the soulmark that was actually important, and some people only insisted it.

As a child it’s in every story you’re told, promises of meeting your soulmate and your whole life falling into place. As if there was nothing more important to look forward too, not when you had your other half waiting for you.

When Draco was five Pansy came round for a playdate. The before bed story from his mother had been about soulmates, and five year old Draco had been obsessed by the idea of finding his soulmate, that somehow he would and his life would just fall into place and be perfect. The stories they used to read said that your witch’s mark will one day turn into your soulmark, and Draco asked Pansy to search for his, pinching and prodding every mark they found on his body, as Draco bit back tears from her bony fingers and shook his head when she asked if they hurt.

Later, he tried again on his own, standing in front of the old mirror in his room, prodding and pinching all over his body, from every mark, blemish, to the dips of his skin in around his bones. It’s all for nothing though, and when Draco finally gives up, extinguishing the lamp in his room, and climbing back into his bed with tears in his eyes, and he can hardly sleep for the aches in his body, and the fear which is even more painful, that maybe Draco doesn’t have a soulmark, that he’ll end up markless.

In the morning his mother found the bruises, but Draco only shook his head when she asked what happened.

He never told anyone of it, but he carried with fear within him for years after.

_Hullo, Hogwarts too?_

_Yes_

It’s easy to fall into familiar routines, as exams approach again. There’s a panic to the atmosphere, as the fifth, seventh and eighth year students try and cram in as much studying as possible, and Draco is no exception. He’s determined to use every minute available to study. He needs to be his best, needs to show them all that he’s more than just a Death Eater. It’ll take more than a few outstandings for him to get a job after graduation, but it’s a good start.

Of course it has nothing to do with avoiding Harry. He’s not. It’s just convenience that means he stays in the library until it closes, then some days he goes back to the Slytherin study room. There’s a secret bed, shrunk down and tucked away in the corner, and it’s what Draco uses most nights. It’s stiff, and Draco, being the creature of habit that he is, misses his bed, and misses his sheets and misses his pillow, and he’s having even worse sleep than usual, but he makes do. He tries not to think about the only night he slept through, exhausted and wrapped up all warm in Harry’s arms, as he wraps himself up in the blanket that feels like it can’t keep him warm, on a bed where he feels like he can’t get comfortable.

Draco isn’t naive enough to think he can avoid Harry forever, but he’s just trying to get some space, a little time to put some distance between them. Most people ignore him in Hogwarts halls these days, and it almost makes Draco feel invisible, like he can get around without anyone seeing him, and it’s freeing, in a way. He lets it get to his head though, forgets that just because most people aren’t looking, doesn’t mean there are people who _do look_ , people who can see him.

Draco’s mid-way through a 16th century account on Treponoma infection in _Philosophiae et Medicinae_ when he’s reminded of the fact by the noise of a book dropping loudly on the table. Draco, flinches, eyes shooting up, looking for the owner of the book and finding—

“Sorry,” Harry says, and he looks it. “That was — I didn’t mean for it to be that loud.”

Harry looks down at him, and Draco feels his pulse pick up a beat, and he wishes he could say it was from the shock of the book. Draco feels the urge to fidget under his gaze, and wishes he was back in the room surrounded by only books and the familiar lighting from the lake.

Or anywhere but here.

“Can I sit here?” Harry asks, takes the seat before Draco can respond. It’s so Harry, expecting people to welcome his presence. It’s not something Draco even thinks he’s aware of, something that’s been happening as long as Draco’s been watching, the way people always want Harry to gravitate into their space. Harry doesn’t notice, just does it, with the ease of someone who used to it, but doesn’t go looking for it, always happy to have somewhere to sit with someone who wants to be around him.

Draco’s usually one of those people.

Today he’s not so sure.

“What are you doing here?” Draco asks, his voice higher pitched than he would like.

“Just here to study,” Harry replies, “and maybe have a chat.”

“I’m busy,” Draco says automatically. “I need to study.”

“Is that for potions? Aren’t you getting an O in that?”

It’s not, and Draco suspects Harry knew this. Draco feels the heat in his face, feeling caught out, and his words come tumbling out, harsher than he means them to be. “And you’re not.”

“I’m not,” Harry admits, easily, a smile on his face. It’s not a real smile though, Draco can tell, has a whole folder of Harry smiles catalogued away in his head. This one is the wary smile, like he might use on a first year afraid of a ghost, or particularly flighty thestral. Draco’s never seen it directed at him before.

“What about your Auror training?”

“Dunno,” Harry says with a shrug. “Not so sure it’s for me. Taking down one evil wizard might be enough for me. Think that might be a good place to hang up my fight against the dark arts hat.”

And that — that’s news. Draco’s suspected it, and it’s not exactly surprising, but still.

“What do you think you’ll do?” Draco asks, the words slipping out.

“I’m not sure. I might take a break, maybe help Hagrid out for a bit over the summer. I think I might like that. I didn’t really have much planned, I’ll be honest. Hadn’t thought much past taking a break from it all, and getting away for a bit. But that was before…”

Harry’s hand waves between them, and Draco’s stomach drops at the the implication. He’s been trying to avoid thinking about it, with varying degrees of success. He still hasn’t looked at his own mark; it’s not real if he doesn’t look.

Harry’s hand comes up to rub at his chest, fingers smoothing over the words Draco has seen lie there. That’s new, something Draco’s not seen him do before; Draco wonders how many times he’s done it since the mark appeared, if Harry has stared at his own words, how he feels about his own words.

“Can we at least talk about it?” Harry asks, and he sounds tense, like a string stretched taught. “I think you owe me that?”

“I don’t owe you anything.”

Harry sighs, deep, leaning his head back and looking to the ceiling, as he inhales deep enough for it to be audible. “Please, Draco, I just want to talk.”

It’s the tone of his voice which almost makes him break, that makes him want to give in, to talk to Harry until he understands. He wants to tell Harry all the reasons why he can’t have this, why he’s not allowed. Maybe Harry would understand. There are so many reasons why this is a terrible idea, too many for Draco to even consider, especially when he’s been doing his best _not_ to think about it.

He’s scared of it, of this thing that maybe-probably is linking them together. Part of Draco wants it all be a mistake, that he’ll wake up tomorrow with clean skin and a lighter heart. There are people that go unmarked their whole lives, who never find their partner, and Draco hadn’t been hoping for it exactly, but he’d see the appeal. He probably would have outgrown it one day, but he needed _time_ , and he just _wasn’t ready for it._

There’s too much, too many thoughts running round his head, and Draco’s not sure he knows how to explain, when he’s not sure he knows himself.

Draco shakes his head, turning his attention back to his book, even as the words blur before him.

“You’re busy,” Harry supplies, voice sad. Draco doesn’t look up. He can’t, even if he can’t read the words in front of him.

“Maybe another time, yeah?” Harry suggests, chair squeaking loudly as he stands. Draco’s trying to read about rash identification, and he doesn’t look up, not even when Harry speaks again. “Look, it doesn’t have to be about — about this. We can just talk. Like we have been. We don’t have to talk about that.” Draco thinks that will be it, until, “And you can stop avoiding me, maybe?”

“I wasn’t—”

“I know,” Harry says, but his voice suggests otherwise. “You’ve been busy.”

“See you around, Malfoy,” Harry says, low and soft, and Draco can’t be sure if there’s a sadness there, or if it’s all in his head.

_Hullo, Hogwarts too?_

_Yes_

Every soulmark is different, means different things.  There are people who find their mark in a relationship and living out their days happily, but there are  other stories about people being missmarked, horror stories often. There are even some people who find a soulmark and never know who was responsible. Not all words are unique, not all words make sense.

 

His mother had a soulmark.

He’s never found out if his father does.

 

_Hullo, Hogwarts too?_

_Yes_

 

“Wasn’t sure you’d come,” Harry says, when he finds Draco tucked into a corner, nursing the same Firewhiskey he’s had all night.

“Of course I came,” Draco says, like there was any chance of Draco missing this. Harry doesn’t need to know Draco only decided to come today, and only when he’d gone back to the study room, taken a look around, and suddenly felt startlingly aware he’d be leaving all of this behind, when he hopped on the train back to London.

Harry hums noncommittally, leaning against the wall beside Draco. Draco feels more crowded than he had been when he was in the middle of it all getting the drink in his hands, a rising heat beneath his clothes. He rearranges his feet, leaning away from Harry, just to put some more space between them, and pretends not to notice when Harry’s eyebrows furrow, instead casting his gaze over the room and it’s occupants.

With NEWT’s finally over, everyone else in eighth year seems determined to give the year a good sending off. The party is lively, loud, and everyone looks to be having a great time, but Draco feels just as adrift as he had back in the study room. It feels like the weight on his shoulders should have lifted from his shoulders when he walked out, as it looks like it had for many of his classmates. His exams were meant to be the most stressful part of year, with so much resting on the outcome of his NEWT’s. It's going to be hard enough to try and get himself a job, it’s a hard sell when you’re not only the youngest death eater, but the one responsible for letting the rest of the death eaters into Hogwarts.

Sometimes he thinks about leaving England, going somewhere no one will know his name, or any of the things he did.  He wonders if it would even help, how much of the heaviness on his shoulders which feels like it weighs him down is specific to England, and how much will always be with him.

Beside him, Harry still feels too close, and while the room is loud, the silence between them feels louder.

“Do you ever think about getting away?” The words tumble out of his mouth before he has time to stop them.

“Now?” Harry asks, a hint of hope in his voice.

Draco has to shut that down, now, so he shakes his head and says, “no,” and then, because now he’s started it’s almost like he can’t stop. “Not like, here, but just like, disappear. Leave it all behind.”

Harry’s bark of laughter shocks him, finally dragging Draco’s attention from the party to look at him. It Doesn’t sound amused, and Draco thinks it’s something he’s said, that Harry is laughing at _him_ for the idea until: “More than you know,” Harry says, darkly, and it doesn’t feel like it’s directed at him, but it still gets Draco’s back up, leaves him feeling like he’s said something wrong.

“I could join you, you know. Disappear with you. If you wanted to.”

It isn’t, and it’s not what Draco had been asking, not really, not at all. It defeats the purpose of _away_ and _alone_ , Draco’s never before considered, in this fantasy of his that there would be anyone but him. But he still takes a moment to imagine it, to think what that would be like, the two of them travelling across countries, living out of shitty hostels and anywhere they can find a bed, or settling somewhere where no one knows their faces. It’s almost nice.

Lets the fantasy play out before his eyelids, before letting it go on his next exhale.

“You’re ridiculous,” he says.

“Maybe,” Harry agrees, too easily really, and almost _happy_ , and Draco hadn’t meant it as a compliment, _Merlin._

“You don’t have to, just because of —” he still can’t bring himself to say the words, can’t vocalise what they have, not when he still can’t bring himself to look. He knows it’s there, has seen the corners of darkness when he doesn’t look away in time. Sometimes, if he brushes his fingers over the area, he imagines he can feel the marks beneath him. Other times he imagines there’s nothing there at all.

“It’s not because of that.” Harry takes a step towards him, and Draco abandons all pretenses of watching the party to swivel his attention. He feels too close again, but Draco fights down the desire to step back, instead holding his own ground as he raises an eyebrow at Harry. “Well, maybe a little bit because of that. But I do want to. Get away from it all. And maybe it would help, maybe we could get away from it all, and just... See what happens.”

It’s probably the Firewhiskey that stills his tongue, that stops him from telling Harry no.

“We’re friends too, you know,” Harry says, like it’s obvious, like Draco should have realised it, and maybe he should have, maybe he’d hoped they were something more than _people who were friendly with each other_ , but Harry’s never said the words, and Draco was never going to ask. “And I thought maybe we could be something more, even before all of _this_ happened. I just want to ask you to… to try. To not rule it out before even trying.”

Draco wants to believe it, he does, it would be so easy to close the distance, his body already leaning in, closing the distance without his permission. He can’t look at Harry anymore, and his eyes drift downwards, until Draco finds himself looking at the open collar of Harry’s shirt. There’s a hint of a mark there, just the top lines of a letter. You might not even be able to tell it’s an H, if you didn’t know it, but to Draco it feels like a flashing sign, the words etched into his mind since the first time he laid his eyes on them.

It feels like the words are calling out to him and pulling him in, like a Siren’s song. It feels accurate, that Draco would be the fisherman, and Harry is the rocks that will spell Draco’s demise.

He wants to close the distance so much, and it’s that which stops him from doing it. He brings a hand up to Harry’s chest, to where he knows the mark lies beneath, and Draco lets it rest there a moment, imagining he can feel the words beneath his palm, because Draco has always had a masochistic streak at heart. It’s only a moment, and then Draco is pushing Harry away gently.

He tries to ignore the disappointment he can see on Harry’s face at that, and keeps his eyes focused on the curve of the letter instead, at how his hand is covering up most of the mark he knows rests there.

“I think,” Draco’s voice cracks on the words, and he swallows again to clear it, before trying again. “I think maybe we should have that talk.”

_Hullo, Hogwarts too?_

_Yes_

One of the first stories Draco remembers is that of pauper who matched with a princess. Her father, the king, had been unimpressed, but at his daughter's request he’d acquiesced, allowing them to marry, if only the pauper could prove himself worthy, by completing the tasks the king himself had set.

It’s not uncommon, for a wizard, especially those of poor blood to make a grand gesture upon finding their soulmate, a way of showing that they are worthy of the soulmark between them.

When Draco's 15 he can't think of anything worse than finding his soulmate, of seeing the disappointment in their eyes when they realise it's _him,_ when they realise Draco could never _be_ worthy.

When he's 17 Draco’s sure he will die before he meets his soulmate and save them the trouble.

_Hullo, Hogwarts too?_

_Yes_

Draco doesn’t look to see if anyone sees them walk out of the party as they leave, Harry leading the way to his room Harry sits on the bed while Draco leans against the desk and tries not to look at Harry or the bed, tries not to wonder those are the same sheets as the night he was here. Whether Harry has changed them yet. Tries, and fails.

The silences stretches out between them, vaster than the distance between them, and Draco knows he should say something, especially when he was the one who suggested they talk, but once again his words fail him; it’s becoming a bit of a problem around Harry. Draco folds his hands together on his lap, eyes the rings on his hands as he traces the shape of them, the familiar touches soothing his nerves a little. He wishes he'd had more to drink at the party, or brought a another drink with him, or a bottle.  He wishes he'd never come, wishes he'd never fallen into that very bed with Harry in the first place which started this all in the first place. Except that he's not so sure about that, it's harder to be certain when there’s a part of him that just wants to fall into bed with Harry, feels like it would be the easiest thing to do.

"Well?" Harry's voice interrupts thoughts, and Draco’s eyes jerking up to look at him, where he's sitting on the unmade bed. Harry looks tense, his whole body tight with it and his hands gripping the duvet so tight Draco can see the strain in his knuckles, the skin going pale from it.

The silence drags on.

Harry jumps up, in a sudden flash of motion. Draco feels himself shrink away from it a little, almost without deciding to do so, as he pulls back in on himself, arms crossing over him like that will do anything to protect himself when Harry moves in his direction. But Harry doesn’t approach him, just stalks across the room, throwing his hands in the air as he turns again to face Draco.

“You slept with me!” Harry says, his voice loud, almost a yell, and Draco flinches. He sees Harry notice, and he can tell he makes an effort to pull himself back, swallowing visibly, and when he speaks next his voice is quiet, for all the power and tension Draco can practically taste on it. “You slept with me then. And now — this. You won’t even talk to me when we’re — when we have _this._ ”

“It’s a bit different than that though, isn’t it?” Draco asks. “We were just, it was just a shag.”

“I didn’t think so.” It’s almost a whisper, and it pulls Draco up short

“I don’t know — I don’t know if I can. I never wanted this,” a lie, and he tries again. “I didn’t —  ”I wasn’t ready.” It’s closer to the truth, at least.

“I don’t think you get a choice there.” Harry’s hand is playing with his collar, but his thumb is pressing down on his skin, where Draco knows the mark rests. “Did you know Muggles don’t have soulmarks? I’d never even heard of them. I didn’t realise that — I never knew.”

Draco does know this. It’s one of the reasons he’d been told — one of the reasons he’d believed — about why Muggles were lesser. Couldn’t even get a soulmark, their blood to weak for even that. Draco had believed it, back in the day, without any question.

“I never knew about soulmates,” Harry continues, “I didn’t — I didn’t realise it was a thing, that this was a possibility. Someone failed to mention that along the way. Like you think that would have been something to mention, like _you’re a wizard Harry_ and _Voldemort will want to kill you Harry_ and _one day after you turn 18 you’ll find your soulmate but they won’t want you back Harry.”_

Draco winces at the last one, but he can’t find the words to explain. It’s not you, it’s me just sounds so empty.

“It’s not that,” Draco insists, because it’s not. He’s wanted Harry for as long as he can remember. It’s like one of those invisible truths, as soon as you realise there’s no denying it, and it’s almost impossible to remember a time when he _didn’t._ “They’re just words Harry,” Draco says, even if they feel like more. Four words that hold them together, like a string stretched between them, and Draco had never expected to have this, hadn’t been prepared. “Words don’t bring people together, can’t bring them together. Lots of people have words and they don’t mean anything.”

“Words bring people together all the time Draco.”

Draco bites back the sound threatening to escape, gripping his own arms tight, pulling them closer against himself. He can feel the space low on his ribs, just behind his elbow, and he lets his knuckles graze over it, where he thinks the letters rest, even if he’s never actually looked.

“Would it be so bad if they brought us together?”

 _No,_ Draco bites back the word, but he can’t find the words to argue either. There are so many reasons why it would be hard; it’s them, it will always be hard, but, there’s a tiny part of Draco wants to believe it could work.

“I’m not saying you have to marry me Draco,” Harry says, “This doesn’t have to mean forever, but just, would you be willing to give it a try?”

Draco traces his fingers along his ribs, imagines he can feel the words beneath them, as he says, “Yes.”

_Hullo, Hogwarts too?_

_Yes_

At 19, Draco realises maybe he was wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Gem ([inevitabledrarry](https://inevitabledrarry.tumblr.com/)) who got me started on this, to [Timothysboxers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/timothysboxers/pseuds/timothysboxers) who talked about this with me. To [SilveredSound](https://silveredsound.tumblr.com/) who talked a whole night about soulmark logistics, to [Shiftylinguini](https://shiftylinguini.tumblr.com/) who supported me, and to all of the olive appreciation group.
> 
>  **Note to approach to consent:** I think, for me, there is nothing more terrifying then the idea of being trapped in a relationship. The idea of having a soulmark that predestines you to be with someone, who takes all the choice out of it? Absolutely irrefutably terrifying. So it was important to me that this fic included non romantic relationship soulmarks even if they are only touched on briefly. What I really wanted to show here, is that you can consent to one thing, one aspect of a relationship, without consenting to it all. And that you are allowed to withdraw that consent when things changed. The addition of the soulmark to the relationship really shook(tm) Draco, and at that stage he withdrew his consent. While Harry was upset by this, and wanted an explanation, he was still respectful of those boundaries and that withdraw. In the end they consent to something different altogether.
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> You can also find me on tumblr at [candybarrnerd](http://candybarrnerd.tumblr.com/) and a rebloggable post with moodboard [here](http://candybarrnerd.tumblr.com/post/184043881840/candybarrnerd-hp-consent-fest-fic-claim).
> 
> Comments and Kudos give me life  
> 


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